


The Exception and the Rule

by Catchclaw



Series: Mental Mimosa [222]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Angry Sex, Blow Jobs, First Time, M/M, Penetrative Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-17
Updated: 2019-01-17
Packaged: 2019-10-11 16:04:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17450060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catchclaw/pseuds/Catchclaw
Summary: “Dude,” Lance said. “Relax, it was fine. Wasn’t the first time. I know how to handle it.”Keith saw red. His fists twitched. “Not the first time?!”“Nope," Lance said simply, like he wasn’t copping to a potential felony. “So how about I blow you as a way of saying I’m semi-sorry and we never have a conversation this boring again?”





	The Exception and the Rule

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Roommates. Prompt from this [generator](http://colormayfade.tumblr.com/generator).

Lance is the worst roommate ever.

He has to be goaded into doing the dishes and picking up his towels. He never remembers to get the mail or put out the trash on Tuesdays and he actively avoids the grocery store like the plague, which would be fine except then he “borrows” Keith’s stuff.

“Is that my peanut butter?” Keith will say, storming into the kitchen to see Lance’s mouth full and the jar empty.

And Lance will swallow around a sandwich and smile and say: “Yeah, it was. But I figured it was ok since there wasn’t that much left.”

“There was half a jar!”

“Like I said,” Lance will say with a shrug, “not that much.”

He also has a bad habit of waiting until the last possible second to fork over his rent. Technically, that’s his problem, sure, but the lease is in Keith’s name and the landlord prefers to cash one check so more than once he’s mailed a check and then held his breath that Lance will fork over his half in time for Keith to deposit it before the landlord has a chance to deposit his and basically, at the end of every month, Keith is popping Tums like it’s candy.

“If this guy’s such a jerk,” his friend Shiro will say, watching him chase a handful with bad, University-brew coffee, “why don’t you kick him out?”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Sure it is. I bet you could find a new roommate, easy. Put the word out, post something on the housing b-boards--I’d give it less than a week.”

And Keith will flush and hide his face behind his tall paper cup and do his best to avoid Shiro’s eye. “Nah,” he’ll say, “I mean, yeah, it sounds great, but not right now. Midterms are next week, you know? I’ve got a lot on my plate. Maybe, ah. Maybe after they’re over.”

Shiro will look at him funny because Shiro knows him, can sense his BS a mile away, but Shiro is also a Good Dude with a capital Great and he won’t push. He’ll let it go.

He’d also understand, Keith’s downright certain, if Keith ever had the balls to hand over the truth, to explain to him really why. Why for all of Lance’s asshattery, his grade-A self-centeredness, his tendency to default to dick, Keith’s in no rush to kick him out.

“Mmmm,” Lance will say with a stretch, insouciant, as Keith pounds him into the bed or the couch or the floor, “is that all you got, Kogane? I’ve been fucked better by freshmen.”

“Shut _up_ ,” Keith will snarl, all the want and need and rage bundled tight in his hips and building with every dumb stupid thrust. “Just shut the fuck up.”

“It’s a damn shame, is what it is. A cock that big and you have no idea what to do with it, do you? What a waste."

Never mind that Lance is leaking, that he’s jerking himself and leering up into Keith’s face, his slim chest blooming with heat and sweat. Never mind that Keith knows he’s about ten seconds from losing it, from throwing his head back and groaning like Keith’s just punched him and coming all over his stomach and his fist. He’ll mouth off every second until he can’t anymore and Keith’ll get off on every damn word.

"Maybe I should bring one of the girls from the dance team home, huh? One of the freaky ones. Tell her to bring her strap-on so she can show you how I like to get fucked.”

Keith’s head will get heavy and his hands will slip, his fingers bent in the sheets or on the carpet buckling, losing their grip, his words falling out in a hiss: “I know how you like it.”

And Lance’s eyes will meet his, triumphant, and inside, he’ll ratchet up tight. “Wanna bet?”

Then the world will stop making sense because they’re kissing, because Lance’s hand is in Keith’s hair and Keith’s tongue is in Lance’s mouth and Keith is in so deep and moving so fast and then Lance is coming, spilling hot and wet and groaning so loud that the sound leaks out from between their lips and Keith’s done for, he is, done and done and growling as he pours into the condom, his ass bouncing in tight, hungry jerks, his body wanting more even as it sighs, at last spent.

“Sometimes,” Lance will say, lazy, in those moments when they’re still joined, “you don’t totally suck at that, Keith.”

“I don’t, huh?”

“No.” A palm on his cheek, a pulse of breath. “You’re learning.”

 

*****

 

The first time they’d fucked, it was sort of an accident. It was February, the worst part of winter, and Lance had taken his car without asking--just picked the keys up from the coffee table like it was his fucking right--and come home after 2 stinking of cigarettes and bad beer.

“I was at Hunk’s,” he’d said with a shrug when Keith met him at the front door, murderous. “We had an XBox tourney thing tonight. I told you.”

“Yeah,” Keith said through gritted teeth, “but I didn’t say you could take my car."

“Well, you weren’t using it.”

“But maybe I was going to! You don't know! You didn't even ask!"

A sneer. "Yeah, well. Whatever."

Keith had shoved him then, sent him reeling against the door. “You really are the worst,” he hissed. “You know that? You’re a complete and total pain in my ass!”

Lance rolled his eyes. “Oh, for god’s sake. Stop acting like such a baby.”

“And you drove it after drinking?” He was wound up now, the tension of the whole night, of the past three months he’d been stuck with this jerk, all coming down on him to bear. “Did you fucking drunk drive in my car, Lance?”

Somehow, he was in Lance’s face and somehow, Lance wasn’t moving, was just smirking like this was all some big joke. “Dude,” Lance said. “Relax, it was fine. Wasn’t the first time. I know how to handle it.”

Keith saw red. His fists twitched. “Not the first time?!”

“Nope,” Lance said simply, like he wasn’t copping to a potential felony. “So how about I blow you as a way of saying I’m semi-sorry and we never have a conversation this boring again?”

“What?”

It had taken Lance opening his belt, Lance falling to his knees, Lance moaning around Keith’s very interested dick before his head had fully caught up to what was happening, before he’d grokked what was really happening: that he was harder than he’d ever been in his life and that it was Lance who’d gotten him there and that he was about to empty his balls down his idiot roommate’s throat and ah, gods, it felt fucking amazing.

“So,” Lance had said a few minutes later, his mouth smeared with heat, “we even?”

“No,” Keith had said, something in him clawing and greedy. “Take yours out and jerk off for me.”

After that, well. That’s just the way that it was: Lance would be a dick and Keith would yell and they’d both get off on it good and if that meant Lance now goes out of his way to be inconsiderate, to leave his stuff everywhere, to make Keith’s life as inconvenient and messy as possible, Keith tries not to notice.

After all, it's just sex, right? Just a way of relieving mutual tension that doesn't involve fists through walls or shouting fights or anything that might jeopardize Keith’s security deposit and/or piss off the neighbors. A win-fucking-win.

So if they trade blow jobs for no particular reason on a Thursday or make out on the couch during Seth Myers when neither of them is angry--those are the accidents. If Keith buys an extra jar of peanut butter and Lance does the dishes without be asked, those are hiccups. If Lance falls asleep in his bed after he’s ridden Keith into oblivion and Keith doesn't kick him out but curls up behind him instead and slides off to dreamland that way--those are the moments of dysfunction, the bugs in their strange but somehow effective system of cohabitation, the exceptions that prove the rule: it's just sex between them. That’s all it is.

Right?


End file.
